Let the punishment fit the crime
by Skovko
Summary: October Rust is back. This time she's been working a month around a Scottish psychopath named Drew McIntyre. She's been playing the scared, little girl while he thinks he has an innocent snowflake on his hands. (Inspired by the song "A Dish Best Served Coldly" by Type O Negative.)


**A/N:**  
**This is the sixth installment of the October Rust saga. All stories can be read individually, but if you wanna start at the beginning, the stories are as follows:**  
**October Rust**  
**Loving you was like loving the dead**  
**No forgiveness for her sins**  
**The scent of cinnamon**  
**Bad girls all over the world**

This job had been hell on earth for her. The amount of nasty words she had to sustain in order to keep him close. And it had only been a month. A long month with Drew McIntyre. They had met at a bar where he often went, and since then they had met up many times out in public. He had tried hard to get her to go home with him, and tonight she was there.

"Fucking little tease! That's what you are. You're a bitch and a tease," he slurred.

He was drunk again. He drank a lot. Everyday. He was an alcoholic with loose hands, but to her he was just a job. He had killed women with his bare hands when his anger took over. Girlfriends only got beaten. One night stands and prostitutes saw a more cruel ending when they came across him. Strangled with his belt.

That's why she was hired to take him down, and the easiest way in was to pretend to be a scared woman that he could do with as he pleased. All but sex. She claimed to save herself for marriage. She knew he couldn't wait that long. He had thought he could talk her into it with time. He was learning now that she was finally in his house it wouldn't happen and that made him more angry.

"Back home in Scotland I had a girl on each bloody street corner. They all wanted me. Not like you. I know there's a whore hidden inside you. All women are fucking whores. You either give it to me on your own or I'll show you how I treat a whore," he threatened.

She knew he couldn't. He was too drunk. He didn't even notice he was sitting on the floor in the hallway on the first floor of his house. Him opening about Scotland was her cue. She had his phone in her hand.

"Tell me about Scotland. Tell me about your family and your life there," she said. "Do you miss it?"

She pressed record right after she had said those words so only his voice would be recorded.

"I miss Scotland so bad," he started crying. "I don't like it over here. No one understands me. I just wanna go home but if I do, they'll all think I gave up. That I'm a fucking failure and a coward. It would be better to kill myself."

He looked up at her with hard eyes.

"I'm not a fucking coward!" He screamed. "I'll show you!"

She stopped the recording right after that. That was all she needed. Now she just needed to play it safe until he was out. When he got knocked out by alcohol, he was out cold. Not even an earthquake could wake him. She had walked into his house many times after he passed out, and he never found out.

"Drew," she said softly.

She sat down next to him, playing the scared, little girl he saw her as. His eyes were only half open when he looked at her. He studied her long, white hair like he often did.

"Snowflake," he said.

He reached a hand up to grab her jaw hard. Of course he had to leave a bruise on his way out.

"I want you!" He growled.  
"I've been thinking," she said. "And you're right. I shouldn't save myself for marriage. We're gonna be together, so it's okay."  
"Really?" He asked.

His hand dropped and he smiled. That creepy smile when he got his way as always. He moved his hands to his jeans but she stopped him by grabbing them.

"Not like this. Not when you're drunk," she said. "Tomorrow when you wake up. I'll make you breakfast and you can break me in afterwards."  
"Break you in," he grinned. "I like the sound of that. I'll break you in so good. I'm gonna teach you how to suck my dick to perfection too. And you'll love it."  
"I'll love it," she agreed.  
"You'll love it," he whispered.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the railing. Only 10 seconds passed before he started snoring. She let go of his hands and sat there for five long minutes before she finally got up and walked over to the table lamp that was placed on a dresser. She yanked the cable out of the lamp.

She walked into the bedroom and pulled the cables from the lamps on the nightstands. She walked back out to him and tied the cables together before securing it to the railing. Now came the hard part.

"You made it so easy for me to hate you," she said.

She wrapped the cable around his neck three times. She used all her strength to lift him up. She finally got him up and leaned over the railing. She grabbed his feet, pulled them upwards, and he went over.

He woke up but he couldn't do anything. He struggled, pulling at the cable, scratching his own throat. She was watching him as his life quickly ran out. He hung there, looking like a suicide. A clever eye would see the difference between a suicide and a murder if there was a reason to look. There wasn't.

She left his phone on the dresser with the recording open. All they had to do was press play and they would hear him say he missed Scotland and how he would show them all he wasn't a coward. Of course one could argue choosing death was a cowardly way out, but to others it was a brave way. She had no doubt Drew would be seen as a suicide, and his family would quickly order their son's body to be sent home.

She looked around and nodded satisfyingly. There was no trace of her there. She had worn her thin gloves. He had been too drunk to notice or care. She walked down the stairs and over to the front door. She turned around and took one final look at the man hanging there. A scottish psychopath turned into a fallen. Another job well done.

She left his house and walked to her car that was parked far enough away so that no one could make the connection between her car and Drew's house. She got into the car and pulled off the white wig.

She looked in the rear view mirror. She ran a hand through her short, black hair and ruffled it. Her jaw was slowly starting to bruise. He got one last laugh in but she got the final word. With a smile she started her car and drove away. October Rust didn't exist.


End file.
